


Before the Night is Through

by RaspberryTree



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Human Clarke, Vampire Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaspberryTree/pseuds/RaspberryTree
Summary: On the night before their wedding, Clarke’s fiancée disappears in the forest. During a search party, her blood-soaked jacket is found near a stream. Two painful years later, a now recluse Clarke hears odd thudding at her door.





	Before the Night is Through

**Author's Note:**

> [Moodboard.](http://lecrumble.tumblr.com/post/166821245653/before-the-night-is-through-vampire-au-on-the)

The fluorescent lighting of the grocery store is merciless tonight. Clarke stands behind the register feeling like she has a hangover. She bags the last customer’s groceries and barely makes eye contact when she announces his total and waits for him to swipe his debit card. He shoves the receipt in his back pocket and then pushes his greasy bangs behind his ears. Clarke’s skin crawls when he smirks at her.

“You should smile more.”

He gives her a wink and leaves the store with the pitiful swagger of a wannabe James Dean. Clarke feels her stomach clench in anger. She slams the register closed and turns the key before heading to the locker room to clock out. The manager, Jaha, barely acknowledges her, too busy scratching out numbers on his lottery tickets.

In the crummy employee parking lot, Clarke takes out a cigarette from her pack with trembling hands. She has to flick the lighter three times before it works, and finally her poison hits her just right. She takes her time with it, leaning back against her red truck to watch mosquitoes fly around a flickering street lamp.

Two years to the day since her life stopped making sense. Her mother promised that time helps, but the gaping hole in her chest still shows no sign of healing. When she feels the icy autumn breeze nip at her skin, Clarke crushes the cigarette beneath her boot and gets inside the truck. She grips the wheel, trying to shut off her brain. Her heart is another matter. Like clockwork, Clarke looks up at the dangling charm attached to her rear view mirror: the black and white photo booth pictures she took with her girlfriend three years ago.

Three years ago, Lexa Woods got down on one knee and made Clarke the happiest woman in the world. With plans to finally leave the town after they got married, the year of their engagement was the most exciting time of their lives. Clarke still remembers how that happiness felt. No booze or cigarette has ever compared. And it’s not that she tries to replace the memories; it’s just that sometimes they’re too hard to bear. Distractions help.

Clarke opens her glove box and takes out the folded missing person sign she could never throw away. She still has a small pile of them in her trunk, the last few that she didn’t get around to stapling to trees or distributing in person. She used to spend entire days doing it. If she ever saw one in the gutters, she’d get out of her car and pick it right up. Looking at the piece of paper now, Lexa’s picture still smiles back at her, still makes her remember their engagement party.

Clarke feels her eyes burn with tears. She doesn’t want to think about it anymore; how Lexa was taken from her, how someone thought they could hurt a woman like her. She doesn’t want to torment herself wondering about her last smile, if it was after they parted with a sweet kiss goodnight because of that stupid tradition to sleep separately before the big day, or if it was after Clarke sent her an I love you text. She knows Lexa read it. She knows Lexa typed an answer but never got to press send. 

Her phone was the first thing they found, smashed to pieces on a patch of ice. Four days later, deep in the forest, they found her jacket discarded in a stream. There was so much blood on it that most people stopped believing they’d find her alive. Week after week, Clarke watched as her social circle lost hope on ever finding her at all. Eventually, the investigation went cold as well.

Clarke didn’t blame Lexa’s family when they told her they needed time to grieve her properly. They had younger kids to take care of, to hug tighter every night. They had bills to pay and jobs to get back to. Life was cruel in its disregard for grief. They didn’t blame her either for clinging to her maybes, to her flyers and her carefully marked maps of the forest. Sometimes an uncle or cousin would come along with Clarke on her searches, but after a while she stopped asking and they stopped offering.

It was Clarke’s mom who encouraged her to move away after a year and a half. Despite their strained relationship, Abby helped Clarke move into her father’s isolated house, an entire town and patch of forest away from everything Clarke couldn’t face anymore. It was still the forest—still the closest to Lexa she could be. Abby understood her grief better than anyone could. She’d witnessed firsthand the evolution of their relationship. She’d been there when, at eight years old, her daughter met their neighbors’ daughter, one mischievous Lexa Woods. Clarke didn’t just lose her lover or her fiancée; she lost her best friend as well.

*

The Jake Shack, as Clarke’s father called it, is a small house surrounded by the type of trees that Clarke is convinced will one day snap like twigs. If they do, so be it. It was different when she slept here as a little girl, back when her father was alive and still had custody every last week of the month, but the cracking and groaning of the forest at night is a faithful companion now. Clarke can’t imagine this house without it.

She parks her truck in front just as the sun sets, its last rays hitting some of the overgrown shrubs by the windows. It’s cold inside, of course, and she hurries to put the heater on. She rubs her hands together and starts a pot of tea, hoping to fall asleep as fast as possible. If she’s lucky, it’ll sneak up on her while she reads her book on the couch. Clarke can’t even remember the last chapter, only that Olive Kitteridge was being her gruff self. She likes the novel, though. Maybe not as much as Lexa did, but to be fair Clarke still has an entire library of favorites to go through.

After a microwave meal of chicken and rice, Clarke settles in the now warm living room. She stretches her legs out on the couch and puts a pillow behind her back, leaning comfortably against the armrest. She pulls the plaid cover up to her waist and then picks up the book, sighing when the wind whistles softly at the window. She knows she’ll curse the morning sun if she doesn’t shut the drapes, but there’s no damn way she’s getting up now.

By the time Clarke gets to the next chapter, she’s finished her tea and is itching for a snack. She heads to the kitchen and eats some Oreos she snatched from the store break room. Now that she's up, she wonders if she should actually get ready for bed. 

She’d mid-thought when she hears a thump at the entrance door. It’s loud enough that it startles her a little, but otherwise nothing out of the ordinary. The wind must’ve made some poor branch break off. The second thump comes a few seconds later, louder this time. Then come a third, a fourth, and a fifth thud. It doesn’t sound like someone is actively knocking at the door, but it’s still too alike a pattern to be any natural occurrence Clarke recognizes.

For a minute after it stops, she stands still a few feet away from the door. She stares at it like it’ll burst open at any moment, feeling like the helpless ditz in trashy horror films. She mindlessly grabs a tomato knife on her counter, holding it tight. After the minute passes, the fear that coiled in her stomach and paralyzed her starts to fade. The more rational part of her kicks in. Clarke frowns and relaxes her white-knuckle grip on her ridiculous weapon. She wipes off the crumbs on her lips.

“Definitely the wind.”

Three more thuds come in quick but somewhat gentle succession, this time as if it were purposeful knocking. Clarke’s frustration has her boil rather than cower. Today is not the day. She makes it to the door in five angry steps, turning the lock and pulling it open in one swift move.

“WHAT?” She yells out, convinced she’ll only hear the wind in response.

Instead, someone approaches in the dark and steps into the dim light cast from the living room window.

“Hello, Clarke.”

Clarke’s tomato knife clatters to the ground next to a dozen pinecones.

Lexa stands before her with her hands behind her back and an anxious expression on her pale face. She is ethereal and frightening at the same time, the same as two years ago yet entirely different. Clarke feels something strange in her gut, almost like instinctual fear, as if she encountered a starved wolf rather than the woman she's loved since she was eight.

Her heart has little care for her instincts. Clarke staggers out of the house, her entire body shaking as she reaches out to Lexa.

"Oh my god," she cries, nearly falling into her arms.

Lexa's grip on her waist is immediate and strong, stronger than Clarke can remember but not painful in the least. Clarke clings tightly to her as she feels relief burst inside her, feels her mind overwork itself with a thousand questions. She's breathless when she looks into Lexa's eyes, wide and open and _alive_.

"You're really here," she says in disbelief, voice breaking.

"I'm here," Lexa whispers.

Clarke feels her throat clog up and her eyes burn. She starts to sob as the realization washes over her, as if Lexa's words take a few seconds to echo in her mind, to wrap around her heart, to resonated as real rather than out of a dream. Clarke knows it isn't one; she's never had a moment like this in her dreams. There was only ever cruel hope taken away at the last second. She never got to feel Lexa, to—

"Lexa, you're bleeding!" She gasps in horror. 

Streaks of dark blood start to mar Lexa's cheeks, starting from her eyes and leaking down to her chin. Clarke reaches out immediately, bringing her hands to Lexa's cheeks ever so gently, as if she's terrified of hurting her, terrified that if she touches her again she'll be proven wrong and this dream will be seconds away from vanishing. 

Lexa wraps her hands around her wrists, stopping her. "It's nothing," she says. "Nothing a little water can't wash away." She looks into Clarke's eyes and swallows hard before letting go of her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry it took me so long."

Clarke shakes her head, still tasting the salt of her tears. She takes hold of Lexa's arm, tugging her toward her truck. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

Lexa is up in front of her before Clarke can even blink. "It's all right."

Clarke pulls at her arm, not hearing her. "They'll do a bunch of tests a-and—"

"Clarke."

"And we'll figure this out together—"

"Clarke!" Lexa exclaims, pulling at her arm to force Clarke around. Her eyes are wide and wild. Lexa softens, stepping forward to cup Clarke's cheek. "Clarke, you're in shock."

"You were gone for _two years!_ " Clarke cries out, her chest rising and falling erratically. "You were gone before we could—" her voice breaks as she struggles to breathe, sucking in sharp breaths between choked sobs. "What happened, Lexa?" 

"Look at me."

"I looked everywhere for you," Clarke whimpers. "I thought I'd never see you again, I thought I'd die—but I _couldn't_ , because what if you came back?" 

Lexa wipes away her tears before leaning her forehead against hers. "Breathe."

Clarke closes her eyes, feeling her heart soar at the words. She buries her face in Lexa's neck, quieting herself in the soft fabric of her dark sweater. After a moment, she manages to calm her breathing. Lexa is here,  _home_. "I missed you so much," she whispers.

Lexa's lips brush against her jaw, her nose nuzzling her neck. Suddenly her lips press against Clarke's pulse and she tenses before pulling away, her eyes looking hooded.

"There are things I have to tell you," she says, swallowing hard. 

At the surprising break in Lexa's voice, Clarke feels her own anguish diminish. "Anything. Baby, you can tell me anything," she repeats, her fingers brushing back some of Lexa's thick locks.

Without even thinking, Clarke's eyes fall on Lexa's neck. Two white scars catch her attention, almost like perfectly round indents in her skin. Frowning at the unfamiliar marks, Clarke can't help but reach out with her hand.

Just as her finger brushes over the old wound, Lexa snarls and rips away, gone in less than a second. Clarke startles at the inhuman sound and feels her heart drop when suddenly Lexa is nowhere to be seen. She turns around, looking everywhere.

"Lexa?! No, no, no—"

"Over here."

Clarke jumps around. She squints at the shadows and sees Lexa standing against a tree, her nails digging into the bark. Clarke feels her insides twist, that old feeling of danger kicking in again. How did Lexa get there _so quickly?_  

"What happened to you?" She asks with a tremble in her voice.

Lexa looks down, scarily silent. 

"Let's go inside, okay?" Clarke offers as an alternative. "It's warm and—I can make you some food. Are you hungry?"

Lexa shakes her head, then looks up again. In the dark, Clarke still manages to catch her eyes. They seem to reflect the moonlight, the green so much brighter than it should be in the shadows.

"Things aren't the same," Lexa answers in a murmur. 

"I know," Clarke responds, desperate to understand. "I know but—Lexa, I love you. I want to help."

"I don't want to hurt you. I waited so long so I wouldn't—so I'd be sure I could control it."

Clarke frowns. "Control what, baby?"

Lexa steps toward her again, her footsteps so light the sound doesn't reach Clarke's ears.

"We call it bloodlust," Lexa answers, her tone nearing shame. 

Clarke feels her confusion grow. "Blood? I—I don't understand." 

Lexa worries her bottom lip. "I've brought something with me."

"Okay..."

Lexa seems to hesitate before she disappears again, shaking tree branches behind her. Clarke gasps at her speed, but by the time she worries she's lost her again, Lexa is a few steps in front of her dropping a cooler to the ground. She kicks the lid open and steps away. 

"This is what I am," she says. 

Clarke feels her heart pound, scared at what she might see. She approaches the cooler, startled when she sees its contents: at least forty blood bags stacked in the cool box, marked as different blood types and the property of different hospitals. Clarke feels her insides freeze, her eyes slowly meeting Lexa's. Slowly, she turns her head to the doorsteps, where the pinecones litter the entrance.

"You..." 

She turns back around, her eyes wide as she looks at Lexa with painful realization. "You couldn't knock."

Lexa shakes her head. 

"And you..." Clarke looks at the blood bags, recalls the marks on Lexa's neck and how fast she is. "Oh god."  

Lexa never once looks away. It doesn't take much longer for Clarke to accept the harrowing truth. She turns away, missing the look of agony on Lexa's face as she watches her walk toward the door.

Clarke clenches her fists and wipes the rest of her tears away. She pushes her entrance door wide open before turning back around and looking at Lexa from her porch. She thinks she must be insane for softening at the sight of her, with her mask of messy black tears and her vulnerable eyes. There might be a powerful predator inside of her, but Clarke only sees the woman she still wants to marry.

"I don't care."

Lexa looks up, startled. It has been a long time since something surprised her so, but Clarke always had that power.

"You don't care?"

Clarke shakes her head. "You may come in. And if you don't out of some misguided attempt to protect me, I can promise you that I'll chase you through this forest and drag you back home if I have to. Vampire or not." Clarke says, swallowing hard. "That's my final word. So you better come over here and kiss me now," she thinks of something ludicrous and raises her hand up, "or I'm taking this ring off my finger for good." 

Lexa's eyes widen and before Clarke can even touch her ring, the one Lexa remembers taking so long to carefully pick, Lexa is in front of her and cupping her cheek. She kisses her without missing a beat, both of them letting out a moan of relief. Clarke clings to her, feeling a sudden surge of desire take over any lingering pain. She pulls Lexa inside, vaguely hears the door slam behind them, vaguely feels Lexa press her against the wall, lifting her thighs up to circle her waist. It's different than what Clarke remembers, _good different_ , like an urgency to be consumed. The thought should be alarming, but Clarke knows Lexa, and trusts that she would never hurt her. 

She lifts her chin up and kisses her again, feeling herself ache when Lexa's arms tighten around her. 

"Take me to bed," Clarke murmurs against her lips. 

Clarke recognizes the hunger in Lexa's eyes this time. Even if everything else has changed, she knows this never will. And maybe they should stop this, maybe Clarke should ask the hundred other questions she has in mind, but for now she only wants Lexa to silence them all. 

"Are you sure?" Lexa whispers. 

"I don't want to go through a night without you ever again."

When Lexa presses kisses down her neck, urgent but gentle, and then brushes her lips against her pulse with infinite tenderness, Clarke knows her trust is well placed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My little contribution to Halloween week. Lexa is a sparkle free vampire. Hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
